even after all these years
by Sorde
Summary: The anatomy of those nine little letters she just can't bring herself to say. Drabble, mild, almost-non-existant spoilers for 4x01.


How awesome was the season four premiere? Seriously. Morgan? Genius (but in, you know, a creepy way). Casey? Hilarious. CS? Is it even possible not to love them? The cheek kiss? Killed me.

But on a fanfic-related note, this is a drabbly oneshot (trying to go against my norm here, clearly), inspired by vs. the Anniversary, because it was too epic to not make a fanfic for. Mild, mild spoilers, but if you haven't seen the ep, it really doesn't give anything away. The rest is just various moments throughout the series, so spoilers up to 4x01, I'd say. Title/lyrics credit goes to The Script.

To my ongoing dismay, I do not own Chuck. Or The Script.

* * *

_(when you pick yourself up  
you get kicked to the dirt.)_

The first time she says those three words, she's six years old.

And it's for a con.

It slips out. Her line was "God bless you, sir", but she's six, so who's anyone to judge if she screws up the line? The 'I love you' ends up being much more effective, anyway.

(It would probably be even more effective if she'd heard if from somewhere that wasn't school.)

Her dad beams proudly at her when the con plays out, offers he Rocky Road Ice Cream, and gives her an affectionate knee-pat. For a second - just a second - she thinks that he might love her.

The moment passes and the thought doesn't cross her mind again.

/

She never says those three words to Bryce.

She regrets it, later.

(But in all fairness, he never says them, either).

/

Chuck's the first to say it.

(He always is.)

He starts out slow. Doesn't say it in so many words. Heavily implies it. "... with the girl that I love."

Between hand-holding and hidden smiles and long-drawn-out kisses, she thinks (just for a second), that she might be the girl he loves.

After all, she does have someone who cares about her.

/

He says the whole three words when she's not even around. To be fair, he strongly suspects that she's just outside that door when he says them.

"I chose to be a spy for my friends and my family and you... I chose to be a spy because Sarah..."

I love you.

(Nobody's ever said those three words directly _to _her before.)

She doesn't know how to act. And the tears fall before she can catch them and remind herself that she's furious at him.

/

He never asks why she doesn't say it back. Doesn't even _heavily imply _it back.

When she stops to think about it, she realizes that she's always been better at showing her feelings with tie adjustments and feverish kisses and life-saving and longing glances.

(And requests to run away, of course, but that's a whole other story.)

When he smiles shyly at her, sometimes, catching her staring or staring before she stares (they've always been in sync), she thinks that he knows. Or knew, before Prague (and didn't care, after it).

She wonders if Bryce picked up on her physical hints. She wonders if she loved him, when she realizes that she gave him none.

/

Chuck's a talker. His whole family is, in fact, and they all manage to make her talk (and say stupid things).

"Chuck is like a duck" often comes to mind.

He talks about his feelings. They come out of his mouth before he's even really sure he means them, burbling out at inopportune moments.

He doesn't always say the three words (but sometimes, he does). He says things like "not without Sarah," even though it's a matter of life or death (his), or "of course you can, you're Sarah," or just her name, really, and he expresses everything she's never been able to verbalize.

But it's so ridiculously _unfair _that he shows what he feels _and _verbalizes them. Jumping from buildings and holding her hand too long and the _looks _he gives her.

Inside, though, he's more of a talker than anything. Which is why, the first time he says "I love you" to her face, he doesn't just say it once - he says it four times.

/

He asks her if she loves him. She's known for a while, can trace it back all the way to "I can be your very own baggage handler" (but a tall ballerina and her dad may have had something to do with it), so she says yes.

But she still feels as though she's cheated something.

Maybe it's because she doesn't actually say it (so it's not as though it's an accomplishment).

/

When the dust (and the gun powder) finally settles, and they're aboard the train or in his bed or on the couch or she just smiles at him a certain way, he says it.

She never says it back. She's never sure why.

He's incredible about it. His face falls every time the awkward pause arises, but he never says anything. Just smiles, a little self-deprecatingly, and kisses her temple or her forehead or just pretends that nothing ever happened.

He never seems to realize that every time he says it, her heart jumps and she loses her breath and she averts her eyes because sometimes... sometimes, it kind of makes her want to cry (because nobody's ever said it before).

Maybe he never notices because she's become too good of a spy.

(Maybe she can't change.)

/

She's always thought of the Intersect as the thing that would, ultimately, save his life. It has before. What she never expects is for it to endanger it.

His doctor hears it before he does. It's like a practice round. (But at least he convinces to her to say it to his face.)

But then he's fine and for a second - just a second, really - she thinks about going back to how it was before. Not saying it but implying it (because that's easier).

She's Sarah Walker, though. She doesn't do the easy thing.

And it just jumps out of her mouth, anyway.

/

Just like that, she stops lying to him. She stops keeping things from him. She blurts it out before they hang up the phones, or at night, just before she falls asleep.

And it's absurdly easy.

(It probably should have been all along.)

/

"What am I... uh, what do I say?"

"_I love you._"

_(oh, these times are hard_  
_yeah, they're making us crazy_  
_don't give up on me baby)_


End file.
